A Man's Character is His Fate
by Mrs. Thomas Malfoy
Summary: Irene Picard is an aspiring doctor  driven by her mothers illness  in an era when women were considered ignorant. Distracted one day in her class by a charming young man, she falls for him, but finds he is nothing what she expected...


_(I just want to note that there are a lot of silly refrences to things throughout this. Just something I whipped up for an English class: nothing fancy.)_

My mind wandered, inattentive to the words being spoken around me. The others in the room were fixated, unwavering in their focus upon the professor that lectured before us. In my heart I could care less, though my mind yearned for knowledge. When in solitude, I was content to sit and tear into books, on any subject; I consumed its content as though it would save my life.

Had the choice been in my hands I wouldn't be sitting in a lecture hall pretending to listen to an amateur scientist blather on about what he thought of the world's mysteries. My father had decided my fate long since my mother's…choice. He had dictated my entire existence, down to this exact moment that I sat here, wondering on how my life might've been had my mother not left my father for a mediocre, self-proclaimed artist in the avant-garde city of Paris; perhaps I would've been a trophy on a man's arm. I could've been a homemaker, or a mother. Perhaps even a duchess. My studies would have included cooking, and proper etiquette of holding tea. Instead, I was instructed in the art of pharmaceuticals; taking lessons twice a week from doctors and studying the journal of Dr. Victor Frankenstein.

"Ms. Picard, would you like to share with your peers what you happen to be daydreaming about? A new dress perhaps? Please recite the last formula I touched on."

I raised an eyebrow, my pride urging me to snap back wittily about his ignorance in certain areas of modern chemistry, "You spoke about Boyle's Law, in addition to your comments about its application in equilibrium pressure; it's basic chemistry." The room stood silent, all eyes upon me; with my chin held high, I smiled smugly and took my seat once more.

"Yes, well… eyes on the chalkboard people." He grumbled, resuming his lesson. The young gentleman in the seat to my right nudged me, quite an improper gesture. I looked to him nonetheless, false inquisition written all over my face.

"You're Irene Picard… am I correct?"

I looked upon him warily, "Yes, the one and only."

"You're quite famous." He beamed; his chocolate eyes aglow with rapture. I looked upon him, curious of what thoughts hid behind those excited orbs. He seemed innocent enough, his smile broad from ear to ear.

"Am I?" I asked in passing, turning back to look at the front of the room. From the corner of my eye, I caught him staring at me, an incredulous expression on his (admittedly) handsome visage.

"You're the first woman to be accepted into Oxford."

"I know." I said simply, smiling smugly, not bothering to look at him.

He frowned, though pressed on, leaning closer, "I'm Blake Avery I've heard you've written an impressive dissertation on cellular regeneration, it's very interesting; may I ask how you propose such a feat?" I ignored him, resting my chin upon the back of my hand. He seemed dejected at last, and left me to my thoughts the rest of the hour. He followed me as I walked nonchalantly out the door, and down the street, constantly attempting conversation.

"Where are you going?" he asked, calling after me as he got caught by a street urchin.

"That wouldn't be any of your business now would it?" I retorted, fighting a grin. "But if you must know, I am going to 21 Fleet Street." He stood frozen in his tracks as I looked back at him; dismissively he handed the beggar six pence, a smile slowly taking shape across his features. Briskly I turned and began my journey, homeward bound.

Crickets chirped, the night air warm and heavy on my face as I slipped into alleyways, dodging Bobbies as I made my way to a notorious café on the darker side of London. My heels clicked against the cobblestones as I sprinted across the street. I looked at the rustic sign that swayed slightly in the wind, La Taverne de Merlotte1: the only proper French café in London. I stepped inside, looking around at the irreparable crowd; I should surely recognize her mess of mahogany curls. There, in the darkest corner of the room, she sat at a table, her back to me, and a few empty pints set in front of her. My heart shattered to pieces as I walked over to her; pushing those thoughts aside, I put on a brave face and gently touched her shoulder as I sat.

"You're here." I said in passing.

Her hazel eyes lit up as she smiled, "Irene… you've gotten taller."

"No I haven't, maman; I'm exactly the same height." I said, forcing tears back. My mother opened her mouth to speak, a violent cough stopping her. I rubbed her back; her illness had progressed enough that I could feel the rattling deep in her chest.

"How's your father?"

"He's… well."

"Good…" I never understood why she asked that particular question: she and my father hadn't spoken since she'd left when I was seven. "Does he speak of me?" I hesitated: my father detested her.

"More than you'd know." I whispered, taking my seat once more. We spoke, hours passing around us; the conversation carried on well until the bistro closed. I helped her to her feet, watching her shuffle to the door.

I sat in my manior, torn between what I owed to my father for giving me the gift of knowledge, and my loyalty to my mother. On one hand, I owed everything that I was to my father: he had raised me, been there when my own mother was not. On the other, my mother had always been in the background, showing me how much she loved me, meeting me in secret; she gave me lessons in the arts: music, paintings, sculptures… I would forever be loyal to both. My hand snatched up a bottle of Bordeaux, the other going for the cork. I stopped suddenly, realizing what I was to do about my dilemma. I stood, allowing the expensive bottle to roll away from me, barely registering as it rolled to the staircase and broke as it fell. Without second thoughts, I ran to my desk, scrambling in my stupor for a pen and paper. Heart singing as I began to write furiously, I ignited my Bunsen burner, testing and mixing chemicals well into the morning.

Big Ben rang loudly, my stomach churning as I stood. The room spun and my heart thundered in my ears. Gasping for air, I realized that it was not my pulse making the insufferable noise. Dashing down the stairs as best as I could, I answered my front door with prudence as I quickly smoothed my skirts.

"Good Afternoon, Ms. Picard." Blake smiled; inwardly I rolled my eyes, though returned the gesture. "I have brought these for you." He continued, handing me the most beautiful bouquet of white daisies I had ever beheld.

"Thank you." I replied dumbly, taking them from him. I looked to him, heart softening, "Won't you come in while I place these in some water? Then we may speak." I stepped aside, allowing him to enter and swung the heavy oak door shut.

"Are you right there, Ms. Picard?" Blake asked, stepping over to my desk. I set the vase on the table; its floral scent filling the room. It reminded me of my childhood in France, the only things missing were the lilacs and peonies. "Ms. Picard?" he asked again, turning to face me.

"Yes, sorry. What were you saying?"

He smiled, picking up my notes, "I was asking you what you were working on here." I rushed over, taking the journal from his hands, slamming it shut and hiding it behind my back. "What was that?" he chuckled.

"I'm working on something quite personal… It's private, Mr. Avery." I mumbled.

"Ms. Picard-"

"Irene." I interjected.

He paused, "Irene, may I read it? Perhaps I could help you?" I stared at him, his eyes crinkled in the corners as a smirk spread across his face; his eyes sparkled, softening my resolve.

"I'm sure you won't be able to make heads or tails of my notes." I murmured, shaking my head as I handed it to him. His smile spread further as he accepted the smallish book, flipping it open to the first page. He read a few pages, making faces at some doodles in the margins and certain annotations.

"You're trying to cure an illness." He deduced, closing it.

I nodded, looking at the book in his hands as I spoke, "My mother's illness is aggressive, and I know she doesn't have long-"

"This could work, Irene." He cut in, reopening it. Blake flipped through the pages once more, mouth set in a frown. "Though, you can't do this alone."

"No, I've told you too much already. I'll thank you kindly, and ask you to leave." I said sternly, snatching the book from his hands.

"If you must…" he said, putting his hands in the air and walking back to the door. "Consider my offer, Irene, I really think I can assist you." I stood silent, arms crossed against my chest. He tipped his hat, turning on his heel and let himself out.

I thought on the proposition well into the day, and for many days after that. It distracted me while writing my letters home; it troubled me as I met in secret with my mother; and it preoccupied my time in class, even more so once Blake sat at my side. I tapped my finger on the desktop, itching to say yes, but willing myself to say no. I couldn't say yes, not only would that potentially put my discovery in the hands of someone I hardly knew, but it would also put my mother's life in those same hands. The predicament made me want to scream; to simply stand where I was and let out an ear piercing, blood-curdling scream. Instead I breathed deeply, letting it out shakily as I once more realized that I knew what I had to do.

"Irene! Irene, wait!" Blake called from behind me, chasing me down as I rushed to get home. Slowly I came to a halt, not moving a single muscle. "Oh, good you've stopped;" he breathed, panting, "I noticed you were distracted back there… Are you alright?"

"Fine." I said simply, sick to my stomach as I opened my mouth to speak the words I knew full-well I could come to regret, "Call on me this evening, Mr. Avery. I've decided your assistance may not be so terrible."

"Really?" he asked, moving closer; I resumed my brisk walk once more, not bothering to politely part with him.

We sat at my desk, looking over notes and discussing chemicals. To my utter astonishment, he and I worked well together. He lightened my mood, making me laugh amidst my personal crisis. Conversation was easy between us, and I recanted a synopsis of my life at one point in the early morning hours.

"I shall see you…" Blake began as I hid myself behind the door; how it must have looked to be showing a man out of my home at such an hour.

"Tonight." I answered quickly, shutting the door. My heart thundered in my ears as I leaned against the door, my face flushed. The idea was preposterous, I couldn't have that sort of affection for one so… peu commun2.

I leaned over the microscope, watching miracles occur; the chemical reacted with the bacterium, destroying it. I squealed with delight, standing straight; our epoch of blood and sweat had at long last paid off. Blake stared down at me, face set with a look of determination in his eyes. We stood, watching one another for quite sometime.

"Err… it worked." I said quietly, stepping aside and gesturing to the microscope. His expression relaxed as he stepped forward to view the slide.

"Quite;" he mumbled, "it seems we're halfway done."

"Indeed." I agreed, moving even further away from him. He turned abruptly then, walking hurriedly down the hall to the door. "Blake! Where are you going?" I called, chasing after him.

"I've just remembered I have another appointment." He whispered gruffly pulling the door open and slamming it behind himself. I stood there in shock; in the month and a half I had known the gent, never had he been so serious. Silently, I turned around, and went back to my study. I picked up the journal that he and I had been making notes in, adding more to it. I made to set it down, realizing there was an ornately folded bit of paper lying next to the lamp. I tossed the book aside; curiously I took the piece in hand and carefully opened it.

Irene,

I've known from the very moment that I glanced at your journal that you are very much capable of solving your own predicament. Though I couldn't help but make myself closer to you; you are beautiful, and intelligent, and understand things that I could only hope to. I've fallen for you, Irene; and only hope that you return my affections: marry me.

Forever yours,

B. Avery

My heart raced as I read and re-read the note; Blake had professed his love to me… Blake had proposed marriage to me. The contents of the note thrilled me, making me feel as though I were to drift away. Never had I understood just why my mother had done what she had, but now I figured I knew.

I took my usual seat in the back of the tavern across from my mother; eyes alight with the lightheartedness that filled me. She looked somewhat taken aback by my obvious change in character, though somehow pleased.

"I am in love." I beamed, removing the note from the purse that hung at my wrist. Forcibly I handed it to her, practically shoving in her face. "I am betrothed." Good-naturedly she took it from my firm grasp and humored me by reading it.

"Irene, I am excited for you!" she exclaimed, a glow about her that I had not seen in eons. "Two more pints!" she cried, jumping up, "My bébé is engaged!" She sat again, looking at me elatedly, quietly slipping the note back. "Tell me about this B. Avery."

"He has the most elegant mess of thick, brunette hair, and his eyes…. They're like cured honey; they smolder and cause butterflies to fill my stomach. He is very débonnaire, mama; you would very much approve." I rushed, barely stopping to breathe.

"How is he financially?" she asked solemnly. The silence between us then was heavy and long; it was uncomfortable to my ears as it weighed down on upon my mood.

"He comes from a good family; I met him at school, he is smart and studying to become a doctor, like me." I answered, adding quietly, "I will be comfortable." She nodded, and our pints were served. As a rule I do not believe in the consuming of hard beverages by women, however, I was with my mother, and I was happy.

We toasted and cheered, singing songs with slurred speech until the tavern closed and we were kicked out. My mother disappeared into the shadows, as I waved goodnight stupidly. With great effort, I turned and began my walk home. I stumbled through the streets, still humming nonsense songs to myself, catching myself on a building as needed. I tripped, balancing myself on a stranger's jacket. They grabbed me, helping me steady myself.

"Thank you…" I garbled, looking up at him. "Blake?" I hiccupped, standing straight. "What're you doing here?"

"I had gone back to see you; I realized I left rudely…."

"I found your note." I said, smiling.

His eyes widened, "Ah, my note." He paused, continuing after a short moment. "I'd hoped to retrieve that and tell you in person…" I smiled, beginning to walk in the direction of home again, Blake steadying me by my elbow.

I awoke the next morning on my cabriolet lounge, my journal in my hand and a ring on my finger, opened to notes I didn't remember writing. As my eyes came into focus I quickly read through them; all at once I realized that the scribbles across the page were my own: none of them were in Blake's handwriting. I had been working last night? My eyes screened the page, quickly flipping to the next. I had a breakthrough: I had found a cure. Just as I was about to race to my study, there came a knock at the door; I jumped to my feet, thundering down the hallway and yanking the door open. Blake stood there, his expression was shocked initially, but a small smirk replaced that.

"I did it!" I screeched eyes wide.

"What?" he chortled, letting himself inside the house.

I let him to the study, mouth going a mile a minute, "I woke up this morning and my journal was in my hand; I read through it and as it turns out, I've discovered a cure. And, I think, with a little work, I can put it into a capsule." I finished holding my journal up to his face. He laughed once more, pushing the book away from him. "You're not taking me seriously."

"Yes, I am; I'm just very impressed that you've done this while… inebriated." He joked, flipping though the pages. "Let's set to work then, shall we?"

"Gladly." I replied, clearing a space for more beakers, Petri dishes and slides.

I stepped into the sophisticated restaurant, walking straight to the maître d', asking to be seated at the reservation under my name. I had waited no longer than five minutes when my mother stepped in; she had cleaned up, she wore a new dress, her hair pulled back beautifully. A sigh of relief escaped me as I stood to courtesy to her as she sat.

"I have something for you." I murmured, pulling out a locket. Her eyes lit up as she took it, its delicate silver chain sparkling in the candlelight.

"Il est de mourir pour3!" she exclaimed, unable to take her eyes off of it.

"Open it." I instructed, nodding as she gave me a look of confusion. Carefully she released the clasp, expression falling to complete bewilderment as her eyes beheld what was inside. "Take it, mama."

"Take it, but what is it?" she asked, holding it on the end of her finger.

"It will make you better." I replied, tearing up. My mother looked at me as though I'd gone mad and set it on her napkin.

"We will eat first, and then I will consider taking it." She said sternly, picking up her menu. Our meal together was spent mostly in silence; each of us keeping to ourselves as we ate. I did not want to press the matter of taking the still highly experimental drug, and my mother did not want to outright reject my efforts. On occasion we would speak of the weather, or her amoureux4. He was well, had sold one or two paintings cheaply. I pitied her, sometimes, more than I loved her.

"The check is coming, and you still haven't decided?" I said somberly.

My mother smiled slightly, "No, I have decided." I waited for her to continue, but she simply picked up her glass and filled her mouth, tossing the capsule quickly in. I stared at her in astonishment; never had I expected she would take it without much prodding. She squealed, quieting herself promptly. "Well, I shall see you the next Sunday as planned." We parted on that note. My stomach did flip flops as I slept restlessly. I itched to know whether or not my mother was going to recover. My dreams were filled with twaddle, accompanied by images of chemicals spilling, I unable to clean them from my hands. They burned me; I would turn to Blake, begging him for his help, but he would only remind me it was my own doing. I screamed, waking to a cold sweat and Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde open on my bedside table. Sighing I lay back down, heart still thundering as I tried to lull myself back to sleep.

I twitched and fidgeted in my seat as I sat through class again, unable to even think a straight thought. Blake reached over, putting a hand to mine. I looked to him, a desperate look plastered on my features. He shook his head slightly, squeezing my hand as he turned his attention back to the professor. His actions only just reassured me as I tried to concentrate.

"She took it." I said as we walked together.

He nodded, "Which is what we wanted."

"Yes, but what if we were wrong?" I said, stopping and staring him down.

"We worked on this a long time; we've given it to many lab mice, none had adverse side effects."

"Yes, well… there's a first time for everything." I reminded him. Without hesitation, I continued walking, Blake taking my arm in the dark and walking at my side. It wasn't long before we came to my mother's logements. I knocked at the door, looking warily up to Blake. He shook his head, smiling. I nodded back, knocking again. We stood, waiting for a reply. I frowned, checking the handle; it swung open, Blake and I stepping inside. "Mama?" I called; walking further in. There came no answer.

"Could she be gone?"

"No, she knew I was to come." I pressed on, walking into her bedroom. My heart stopped, falling into my stomach, tears falling from my eyes as I let out a scream, my legs unable to support me.

Blake ran to me, "Lord have mercy. Love, let's go, you shouldn't see this…" He whispered out, helping me to my feet. I sobbed into his waistcoat, unintelligible syllables flowing from my throat. He looked on my mothers, rotting body in horror, trying to pull me from the room. I stumbled down the stairs as I shrieked for the constable as I wrenched myself from Blake's hold.

My hands shook eyes and lungs aching as I sat on the sofa, crying to Blake. It didn't take me long to cry myself to sleep this way, and I found myself in my bed the next morning. Dizzily I slipped out of bed, quickly changing my clothes and shuffling to the drawing room. Blake lay upon the sofa, sleeping heavily, his waistcoat tear-stained. A pang of guilt shot through my chest as I looked up on him. Turning away, I continued on to the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast.

Many more months passed since then, my demeanor shifting to a much more bleak tone despite my joy in having married Blake. I could see in the mirror how my depression affected me; the light that once shone in my eyes was gone, my skin became pale and dull. No longer did I have the same lust for life. Blake noticed this in me, frequently trying to cheer me. Nothing worked, however; everything reminded me in someway of her. I gave up on my experiments, and all but quit school. Blake continued my efforts, working round the clock to refine our breakthrough.

"You have to eat." He reminded me as he set a plate of lamb in front of me.

I smiled, it was a dark smile, nothing that it should have been, "You're reminding me to eat? You haven't touched a single thing in about a week."

"You're right." He laughed, watching me closely as I poked at the food. "I'll be going back now, I've almost done. I love you."

"Good luck…" I mumbled, pushing the food away as he left. I reflected on the very night that I administered the (assumed) medicine to my mother. It was the first of its like, it would cure her severe cough; to alleviate the stress her lungs were under. It had done none of that; instead of helping her, I had killed my own mother.

I walked into the lab, hands behind my back. My hair hung around my face and my hands still shook. Blake was bent over the microscope, concentrating hard on what he was working on. I cleared my throat, making my presence known. I jumped, turning around and slamming the notebook closed.

"Irene, uhh… You should be upstairs sleeping." He said, striding over and walking me back to the parlor. "Rest, mon amour." He commanded, sitting me down. I complied, waiting for him to leave before I got up again, going to my room and looking over my notes. There had to be something here that I had missed. There had to be something wrong with my calculations…

I kept reviewing and testing in private, trying to create a new drug. It would be better, more potent, and properly work. Weeks passed, Blake finally becoming more social. We spent less time in the lab, and ate proper meals, and left to sleep at his own home instead of crashing in the study.

"Have you seen the paper?" I asked quietly, re-reading the headline. Blake grumbled about some comment in a medical journal he was reading. "Listen to this," I pressed, "Three World Leaders Dead of Mysterious Illness." Blake outright ignored me. "Blake!"

"What? Can't people die and no one think anything of it?" he roared, throwing the book across the room, shattering a decorative pitcher. He sighed, exasperated, as I stared in wide-eyed astonishment. "I'm leaving." He said brusquely. I stood where I was until I heard the door slam and, with shaking hands, began to pick up the broken shards. I made my way to the lab, terrified if I were to be caught. He had been so livid that afternoon, I was unsure what he would to if I were caught snooping. I picked up the first journal I laid eyes on, opened it and began flipping through its pages. Many of the formulas as calculations were my own. He had crossed out some, and rewritten them with other chemicals. Quickly I set to work at mixing the latest recorded. It took me a fair while, but I was luckily not interrupted. I administered it in its liquid form when finished, watching the rat intently. It was fine, scampering around its cage, drinking water and every now and again eating. With time it appeared to become drowsy, after a few minutes of lethargy, it began to regurgitate, and its heart promptly stopped shortly after. I could only stare in awe at the poor, dead creature. Could that have been what had killed my mother? Not wanting to jump to conclusions, I ignored the rat's reaction; I cleaned up what I had used, and replaced it to where it had been before; all the while wondering what could be going on.

Blake stepped into the dinning room late that night. I sat at the table, reading over a recently published medical journal and nibbling at an apricot. He tossed the keys to the table, taking a seat at the opposite end; he sat in silence as I read, every now and again taking a bite.

"Yes?" I asked, looking at him from over the rim of my glasses as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm sorry." He said simply. I waited for him to say more, but nothing came. I cleared my throat, and he continued. "I've been feeling a lot of pressure about finishing your work; I know it means a lot and…"

"I understand, don't say another word." I smiled, getting up and walking out of the room. Pacing my bedroom that night, I came to the conclusion that I was to carefully make note of everything he did. Read which chemicals he used, and every other annotation he made. As I continued to read his works and studies, the path that my investigation began to grow clearer and clearer all the while. The longer he worked, the more 'coincidences' occurred. Professors passed away from mysterious ailments; more governors were put in graves; and the suspicious, and scared I became.

"You don't tell me you love me anymore." I mentioned quietly one night while we ate dinner.

"Yes I do; all the time, Irene." He quickly said, not looking up from the evening post. I accepted his lie in silence, simply nodding my head and finishing my dinner. That night I laid awake again, thinking on when to make my move.

Blake strode through the streets of London, his collar turned up and glancing behind himself every few seconds. I followed closely after him, making sure to remain hidden in the crowds or in alleys. He was fast, almost too fast for me to catch, but at last he stopped, meeting with a hooded man in a dark corner of a run-down pub.

"Take this to a Mr. Joseph Small, he'll slip it to Georgie." He smiled wickedly. I sat there unmoving, not daring to breathe as Blake walked past my table; I hid my face in my hood, waiting to hear the door slam shut again before getting up and leaving. Waiting a few minutes (impatiently) I finally sprang from my seat and rushed to return to our house. I took every shortcut I could think of to get me there, finally hailing a cab. The large black horses thundered as we raced down the street. They dropped me off in the back and I threw the charge at him as I jumped out and rushed into the servant's entrance. Quickly I made my way upstairs to the couch, where I laid down, pretending to be stricken with fever. Blake walked in, looking up at me, assessing my state.

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving nearer.

I nodded, sitting up, "Yes; I think I just need some rest, Blake." I smiled, trying not to sound out of breath. He backed up, nodding. "I love you."

"Mm-hmm." He grumbled, walking out of the room.

The next morning's papers confirmed my fears: King George III Found Dead In Bed. My heart raced, head becoming dizzy as I realized I had married a monstre5, and all I could manage to do was stare at a measly newspaper.

"What are you looking at?" Blake asked loudly from behind me.

I gasped loudly, "Oh, Blake… you startled me. It's the headlines," I gulped, "they're just so shocking."

He peered over my shoulder, "Yes, very. Are you feeling well, Irene?"

"No! I'm feeling much Bigger- better!" I yelled my eyes wide as I stared at him. He frowned down at me, looking at me as though I were mad. "I feel I need to go lay down." I said hastily, rushing past him and into the kitchen. This was definitely his doing, there was no way it could bee sheer luck. I paced the floor, flipping through the pages as I went. More than politicians were dying. People were dropping dead in the streets, all over England, France, Italy, and Germany. There was no found cause for the rising number of deaths; coroners all over the continent claimed it was a new disease: Cholera.

"You've been quiet all day, my love." Blake said over dinner. "Are you still felling ill?"

"Yes, it's this slight fever has been with me all day." I said, refusing to make eye-contact.

"We'll have to watch you don't catch the Cholera." He smiled, taking a large bite of steak. My stomach dropped, and I glanced down to my plate as Blake looked away, asking a servant for more vin6.

"I don't feel well." I announced loudly, getting up from the table. "Excuse me." I murmured as I exited the room. I locked myself in my bedroom, making sure I was safe for the night. Blake would have to murder the staff if he were to murder me. As an added measure, I kept his imported Colt in my hand as I slept.

I started to wake, eyes adjusting slowly to the light of the day. There came a knock at my door, the sound scaring the life out of me.

"Mrs. Avery? Your door is locked, might you open it so I can serve you breakfast?" Ivonne, my personal maid, asked.

"Ivonne! Yes, hold on a moment." I exclaimed, jumping up. I unlocked the door and with a keen eye surveyed the foods she brought on her trolley. "Did you yourself oversee the cooking of my meal, Ivonne?"

"No ma'am." She replied, shaking her head sheepishly.

I smiled to her, "It's quite alright; I will not however be eating this morning, not with this Cholera going around…" I lied coolly. She nodded and began to wheel the cart from the room. "Before you leave, where is Mr. Avery?"

"He's already left for the day, Mrs. Avery." She said quietly.

I smiled widely, seizing opportunity, "Wonderful; and did he happen to eat this morning?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then I'm sure he'll be ravenous for lunch when he returns. Make some of his favorites." I instructed, walking past her and heading off to Blake's laboratory. I picked up a pair of pills from the table, and left, heading back upstairs to the kitchen. It smelled of roasting tomatoes, and garlic. It made my mouth water as I looked into a pot full of soup.

"It smells good, no?" Chef Weberman asked, offering me a taste.

"Oui." I agreed, smiling. "It needs pepper." I said, pointing off in the direction of the pantry. The chef frowned, but wandered off to fetch the pepper grinder. Hastily I crushed two capsules in my hand and threw them into the pot, mixing it. Deviously I smiled to myself, and left as she returned.

"What is that heavenly smell?" Blake asked as I met him at the door later that day.

I beamed up at him, "I have had the chefs cooking all morning for you. I hope you like it."

He sat at the table, looking at the feast before him, "C'est magnifique! You'll be the death of me." He joked, looking up as his soup was served. I pretended to laugh, watching as he ate, and ate, and ate until there was no more soup. Blake chuckled, looking up at me, eyes obviously unfocused.

"My love," I said, walking over and ushering the servants away, "you don't look so well. Perhaps you have come down with the Cholera." I smiled.

"You!" Blake cried, attempting to stand; he knocked himself to the floor, landing on his face with a loud crash, the chair tipping behind him. He sputtered and choked as he tried to regain his feet.

"Shh, don't get up." I crooned. "You're getting your just deserts, my love, for fooling me; for killing my mother; and for abusing my discovery." Blake coughed as he lay in his own sick, I watched him suffer a moment longer before I knew he was dead, and let out a shrill scream, the entire staff running to my aid.

I explained to the constable only what I wanted him to know: that my husband had indeed been a disloyal man and that we had fought not long ago. It was understood that I was having the meal prepared as an act of forgiveness and that I couldn't understand why such tragedy followed me in the last year. No one paid me a second glance as I was released from questioning. Later that night, I buried the cursed pills and burned the journals. One day someone would cure my mother's disease, one day when the knowledge would be in more capable hands.


End file.
